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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29259333">Vestige</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinzeNorim/pseuds/LinzeNorim'>LinzeNorim</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Great Pretender (Anime)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Study, Gen, Introspection, Not that accurate tbh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:47:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,138</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29259333</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinzeNorim/pseuds/LinzeNorim</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>But his mind’s a little bitch, out of his fucking control.</p><p>Same goes for everything else, out of his control.</p><p>He doesn’t like it, not even in the slightest.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Vestige</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello!! I’m honestly so surprised if anyone would click on this but anyways, this is the first time I have ever uploaded a fic here, and I’ve written a bunch of stuff (unfinished ofc) don’t know if I will follow through with this one. This is just a little experiment on my part, I’m not exactly confident on how good I’ll deliver, or how much I understand the character lmfao. This really is my first fic and I have no idea on how to handle the pressure of a writer or anything like that, but I’ll try my best!! English isn’t my first language, keep that in mind please. Feel free to correct me down in the comments!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Makoto liked being in control, not one for uncertainty.</p><p>The thrill it promises, the surprises it guarantees— this romanticisation of unpredictability that he simply can’t understand, preferring life planned and straightforward. No troublesome predicaments, no unwarranted feelings, just him choosing a path he had already conjured up for himself. Call him an old man, a nihilist, call him a pussy or a coward, but he’s not afraid to admit that he likes it that way.</p><p>As a child, he’s normal. With a normal nuclear household and with parents whose jobs have acceptable working hours, enough to attend to his need of parental attention. A house befitting the three of them; cozy ambience derived from their lighthearted conversations with light topics and light smiles. Inexplicable jitteriness had coursed through his body whenever he got to be a part of it, shushing his parents from talking about unimportant adult duties as he butted in to boast about his progress on Mandarin.</p><p>His had dad looked at him, pleased. His mom had looked at him, more than pleased, giving him a triumphant thumbs up. And he, Makoto, had a ridiculously large smile on his face.</p><p>It was routinely for them, a reoccurring thing. It was familiar and predictable— just how he likes it.</p><p>The same and never-ending.</p><p>He wouldn’t mind if their evenings would continue on a loop, for he had never experienced anything else that could rival it. Be it with friends, school activities, games and sports, nothing came close to the warmth and comfort his family provided for free, coddling him up every chance they get.</p><p>But of course, change is bound to happen. How naive of him to think that everything will remain as is when time itself won’t stop sprinting to the finish line in an absurdly fast tempo.</p><p>Makoto’s dad left for a job abroad, or so he says; and they were left with their too-big house and too-big bed, his forgotten toothbrush haunting them whenever they stepped foot inside their own bathroom. Makoto thought that they’re just overreacting— that of course, dad will come around and return home sooner or later with gifts that will compensate for his absence (not<br/>
that it will ever measure up) and an evening worthwhile after the long overdue. He needed to apologize for causing his mother’s mood-swings too.</p><p>Makoto had thought about it for months. Daily without fail.</p><p>He then realised how dependent they were being. Not that he ever tried to combat that dependancy, as he saw it as a good thing.</p><p>Makoto adored his dad, treasures every moment spent with him. His faults are outweighed by his good heart, not that those faults were discernible in the first place. He had lived by his dad’s principals, even aimed to be like him in the future— as a good lawyer and a father.</p><p>So he was not against his feelings in the slightest.</p><p>But of course, change is unavoidable; time is unforgiving; and truth was never sensitive.</p><p>He sees it, his dad’s face plastered all over a news channel, the blaring and pretentious sounding news music loud in his ears, as if it existed to purely mock his family. His mouth tightens, heartbeat increasing as he can feel the thumping sound of his heart all across his chest, shoulders, pulse, stomach— barely able to asses the situation of what exactly is <em>he</em> doing there. Then the news reporter releases his tired voice, devoid of any enthusiasm as he explains his father’s relevance to the prevailing report.</p><p>He hears bits and pieces. His ears are trying their best.</p><p>Something about child trafficking. Two perpetrators. Now his father.. an accomplice? Jail-time for those two perpetrators, and his <em>father</em>.</p><p>His jaw’s gone slack. His fists are clenched, crude nails digging his palms as if his intention was to draw blood. He tentatively averts his focus from the tv to his mom’s turned back, unable to foresee her reaction— but knows that it won’t be pretty.</p><p>And true to his assumption, she collapses.</p><p>Makoto is frozen on the spot.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>_____________________________________</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>His life derailed from there, not that it takes a genius to predict that.</p><p>Expectedly, his father, <em>no</em>, Ozaki’s turbulent bullshit of a story spread throughout the prefecture they resided in and people had not looked at them the same since. It’s as if Ozaki’s reputation was unrightfully carried onto them, like they have done something equally deplorable as participating in a human trafficking. As if they participated in a human trafficking ring.</p><p>He’s still in disbelief, despite himself.</p><p>Even after years of learning to accept, learning to acknowledge, learning to deal with disillusionment— he still finds himself pondering on <em>why</em> and <em>what</em> the fuck had gone through Ozaki’s mind.</p><p>He does his best to push it way, to just focus on not becoming like his father, dare he calls him that.</p><p>But his mind’s a little bitch, out of his fucking control.</p><p>Same goes for everything else, out of his control.</p><p>He doesn’t like it, not even in the slightest.</p><p>He’s convinced that external forces and literal Gods are working against him, once in a while they will plant a seed of good luck and make him hope enough that his facial features will resemble an unsophisticated teenage girl’s, full of glee and interest, only for the seed to explode and burn the remaining crops of his land.</p><p>It’s stupid to let himself be moved with childish wonder, aware that his chances of getting an appropriate job is close to none.</p><p>He finished his schooling as soon as high school came to a close since they didn’t have enough money to fund for college. To exacerbate their case, his mother’s illness had been getting worse and Makoto would rather sell his limbs than let his mom die. </p><p>He’s getting her out, no matter the cost.</p><p>It’s hard to watch her struggle everyday with her unusually pale features, her bones protruding through the hospital gown. Weirdly enough, her eyes are the opposite, filled to the brim with solemness and content.</p><p>Makoto wishes those bright-eyes were for the right reasons. But they aren’t.</p><p>His mom’s still under the illusion that Ozaki did nothing inhuman, that there was a mistake, that he isn’t a criminal nor did he exploit kids. She’s expecting his comeback, his confirmation that this was all a sick and twisted joke that he pulled on them.</p><p>He hates that there’s a part of him that wanted to feel the same way.</p><p>But the spells long gone, and his only option is to waft through life and figure out his place in the world, not letting his label as a child-trafficker’s son get under his skin and let himself bellow in agony when employers reject him, though he is close to doing so.</p><p>He’ll get a job soon, his gut agrees.</p>
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